Finding Molly
by kimistria
Summary: Aspen, a thirty-something teacher becomes embroiled in the fantasy world of Sherlock after a near-fatal car accident. As her real and fictional world collide, she discovers her life thus far may not have been what it seemed.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I make no claim to the characters of Sherlock and Molly. No Copyright infringement intended

Rating T

Status: In progress

Chapter 1

Sometimes God finds you in the wilderness. It isn't that you particularly want to be found. In fact, you are thinking you are quite clever to hide out in the open with little vegetation to shelter your person. You wander a very long time and never really know where you are going. Oh yes, it seems that you have chartered a course through arid terrain, and it looks like it was well planned, but you have no bloody clue how it will all turn out.

* * *

Aspen treated her life like nothing mattered. She went through all the routines that normal people indulge in like college, family and career, but it was all play-acting. She had a cold indifference to the actual process and spent her days in a monotone voice over inside her head that made her existence seem slightly more real. All social interaction was downright uncomfortable, and she learned to fake enjoyment of events such as parties, dinners and church services. All the while, she was living out an entirely different life inside her head. People would call her an introvert, but she knew it was something far worse. She did not really understand her predicament until one evening while watching Sherlock, a BBC mini-drama, and then she knew. She lacked the capacity for love and human connection just as Sherlock did. For Sherlock, that all got in the way of cold deduction; feelings clouded the truth. She knew she was certainly not a sociopath, brilliant, or even clever. However, she did find herself assessing every situation and making broad speculations as to the characters and settings in her path. So the day that stopped was perhaps her real birth-an awakening to colors and sounds and actual feelings.

* * *

The pain shot through his leg like a million fire ants trying to dig their way out of his tendons. His slate colored khakis darkened as the blood drenched through the thick layer and spread upward toward his thigh. He could see the smoldering remains of the other vehicle. The royal blue SUV rested on its side looking like a crumpled bag. No one could have survived that crash. The logging truck sat on the shoulder seemingly unharmed, and if Sam had not witnessed the destruction it had rendered, he would of thought it was just pulled over to help. He tried to move, but the pain intensified until he was on the verge of passing out. Help would arrive soon; they were only one mile from town. He had been returning from The Home Depot with a new sink for the cabin and noticed the log truck in his rear-view mirror as he was inspecting the state of his overgrown chestnut hair and thinking he needed a trim soon. The rest was just a blur as the truck came crashing behind pushing him into the median and then hitting the SUV head on.

"Hey, are you hurt?" came a shout from behind. "Holy shit, Cassie, call 911. Mister, help will be here soon, don't move." The look in the man's eyes told Sam that it was far worse than his leg bleeding. He tried to turn his head to look in the mirror but could not manage the slightest movement without waves of searing pain throughout his entire body. Just as he could not imagine one more minute of this hell he blissfully sank into unconsciousness.

* * *

Molly peered into the microscope looking up every few minutes and writing a few notations on the yellow legal pad. Her mousy long brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail. The door to the lab swung open with a flourish. She could hear the swish of his coat and the tell of his steps but did not look up to acknowledge Sherlock as she normally did. Her pulse quickened as he came closer and stood directly behind her. He wanted something from her. He always wanted something from her, and she was always willing to provide it. A pathologist was a handy person to befriend when one needed a dead body for research.

"Hello Molly," came the low whisper. It was not his typical greeting. She felt a warm hand rest on her shoulder. Startled, she swiftly turned and looked up at the man she knew she could never have but would always want. He was covered in blood.

* * *

Aspen awoke screaming. Sherlock's bloody face was still imprinted in her mind. She smelled the stringent aroma of the lab and looked around to find Molly. All she saw were the cold white walls of a hospital room. Balloons and flowers littered the windowsill.

"Aspen, Aspen, you are alright, it was just a dream." A young girl hovered into view, her pale blue scrubs brushing the side of the hospital bed.

"I have to find Molly. Sherlock does not give a crap about her, and I think she might be in danger."

"Aspen, Sherlock is a television show; you were just having a nightmare. Do you want me to call your son?"

"I have no son," Aspen blurted as she scanned the room for signs of Molly. "I have no son!" she screamed. "Molly, Molly!" Aspen's voice shrieked throughout the corridor and soon white lab coats blurred into view and injected something into her IV line. As she struggled to stay conscious, she could hear the tell of his shoes on the tiled flooring.

Authors Note: This is my first fanfic, so please be gentle. I will be tying the storylines together, but for now, please be patient.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam could hear the muffled echoes of an intercom calling for Doctor Cranbrook. He opened his eyelids slightly peering through the slits. The room was intensely bright creating an immediate throbbing of his temples. He quickly closed his eyes and breathed slowly trying to banish the headache. He switched to his sense of hearing and focused his energy on deducing if anyone was in the room with him. A slight hum came from his immediate left-machinery of some sort. An irregular tapping seemed to be across the room paired with a swooshing sound. He honed in on this particular noise and realized that the swooshing was a fan but could not figure out the other sound. He imagined something beside a fan that would make irregular tapping noises and he suddenly recognized the hollow thunk of a Mylar balloon. After several minutes of listening, Sam figured he was indeed alone in this hospital room.

As his throbbing temples subsided, he realized that he was insanely thirsty. He felt the side of his bed for a call button, but before he could locate the device, the door creaked open and soft footsteps entered the room. Sam did not dare open his eyes again, so he croaked out a "Bright."

The person crossed the room to the fan and proceed to close the blinds. Sam recognized the swish of aluminum descending. He opened his eyes a slit and was rewarded with a dimly lit room.

"Better?" came a voice Sam had never heard before. It was a voice one would never hear in Idaho-a distinctly British accent. As Sam opened his eyes wider he took in the form of a tall thin man with dark curly hair parted to the side. He wore a long woolen jacket with the collar turned up. His gaze was piercing, and as he stepped closer to Sam, he steepled his fingers under his chin and began his interrogation.

* * *

Molly sat alone in her flat, a cup of tea resting on her knee. Her mind raced trying to decipher the past two days. Sherlock suddenly appearing bloodied and swollen in the lab was not something entirely new to her world, but what happened afterward was certainly a first for the smitten pathologist. His face was not the worst of his worries as he revealed several stab wounds to his torso. He demanded that Molly patch him up, and when she tried to insist that he needed a proper hospital and doctor, he grabbed her arms and looked pleadingly into her eyes. "The fate of the known world is riding on my immediate mending and disappearance for a few days. I will also need your flat."

"I, I don't..." Molly stammered.

"Bloody hell, there is no time to debate this as my blood loss and pulse indicate I will soon pass out in 35 seconds give or take three seconds and you better get me to the back room before anyone shows," Sherlock rasped breathlessly.

Molly gingerly took his left arm and encircled it around her shoulder, half walking, half dragging him to the back room. After guiding him down to the floor, upon which he grimaced on impact, she scurried about finding supplies to clean up the blood and sew up the wounds. She was relieved that he was astutely correct as to the timing of his lapse into unconsciousness-38 seconds. Twenty-two stitches would have hurt like hell not to mention the astringent she generously applied in haste. She could see the bruising begin to show and marveled as his ivory skin took on a patchwork appearance. He had a beautiful physique. She had seen him topless before, but never had the opportunity to gaze for more than a fraction of a second. His lack of regular meals kept him fairly thin, but he had well defined musculature that one would have taken for an avid swimmer. She traced the edges of one of his bruises and thought that she would do anything for this man who infuriated her on most occasions.

She grabbed some blankets from one of St. Bart's supply rooms as well as an IV and solution. She would not be able to get Sherlock out as long as he remained unconscious, and he needed hydration immediately. After rigging up a make shift IV stand in the back room and heaping on several blankets, she went back into the lab to keep watch. She was not sure what excuse she would make if anyone wanted access to the room; no one usually did, and she hoped this would be a normal day. She busied herself with the microscope and slides, but really she had no actual capacity for rational thought, so she pretended to go about her daily research and reports knowing she would have to do it all over again tomorrow, maybe.

A groan from the other room had her rousing suddenly and half falling, half jumping from her stool. She looked at the clock and could not believe it was 11:30. She vaguely remembered her boss peeking in at five letting her know he was off. She made some mumbled excuse that she needed to finish a few things and would be working a little late. As she opened the door, Sherlock was already pulling the needle from his arm and sitting up.

"Your flat then," he said wincing as he struggled to his feet. Molly obligingly nodded, knowing that he was going to be the worst patient one could imagine.

Author's note: Yes, it is all taking shape in my brain with a few twists and turns. I know I needed some Sherlolly moments right quick lest you lose interest. Do not fear, there will be many more to come as I find myself needing to satiate my own natural inclination toward this pairing. Thank you to my first followers! I am ecstatic beyond measure, and I will continue to work on this story for you alone should I procure no more fans:) I hope to get another chapter finished this weekend. I am a real-life teacher, so unfortunately my day job will get in the way at times, but I am quite dedicated to having a completed story in a few months. I hope to also wrangle my copy editor to beta my chapters in the future, but she is a bit busy now moving, so you will have to suffer a few grammatical mistakes. Do not hesitate to let me know as I notice others but feel hesitant to let them know. I will not take offense. Thank you so much for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_One month earlier_

Aspen pulled a stack of papers from the green basket marked homework. There was a million other things she would rather be doing than grading papers and doing lesson plans on a Saturday. She considered circle filing the papers which in teacher-ease meant throwing them in the trash. The majority of students and parents never even gave them a second glance and no one would miss a few pages of homework. She settled with stuffing them into her green canvas bag for later grading at home. If she could get her plans done in an hour, she would be able to squeeze in another viewing of "His Last Vow" before she had to make supper.

A noise from the other room startled Aspen from her incessant typing. She could see through the hallway into Mrs. Harroway's room. The weekend custodian was busy washing desks. His shaggy chestnut hair was certainly not the balding Greg she usually saw on a Saturday. He looked almost like a hobbit as he hunched over the surfaces. When he stood up, he was certainly not hobbit size; he must have been at least six feet tall. Aspen judged him to be in his late twenties, a few years younger than herself, but looks can be deceiving.

Most people thought she was still in her twenties and marveled that she had a fifteen-year-old son. She kept her light brown hair long and often had it in a simple ponytail away from her face. She could not be bothered with hair styles. Most people would consider her average in the looks department. Her lightly upturned nose and large brown eyes were in no way striking. At best, she could be cute with the right clothing and a little makeup. It all really did not matter to her as she lived mostly in her head when she was not teaching. She was so many other different characters throughout the years and sometimes was a bit startled when she saw a picture of herself.

She continued to assess the new custodian. No wedding ring, tattered gray tee shirt, loose blue jeans, and his walk was certainly a tell-horse rider. He was left handed and perhaps a little OCD. Each desk that he washed was in the same exact pattern of four corners and sides, then diagonal swipes, then small circles inside each section he did not cover, going from left to right then down then back left. Aspen watched him do several desks before she verified most definitely obsessive compulsive. She was so intent on watching this behavior that she did not notice when his gaze shifted up without a break in his cleaning.

His piercing eyes rested on the teacher across the hall noticeably watching him clean. She looked late twenties, a few years younger than himself. Her baggy blue Hoodie covered up any indication of her shape. Gray sweat pants and dirty sneakers completed the outfit. This teacher did not care about appearances. When she finally looked up to meet his gaze he waved and smirked. She shifted, looking embarrassed but waved back and went back to her typing.

Sam wondered if he should go say hello or just continue with the cleaning. She did not seem to want any more interaction based on her frantic typing, so he left it at that and moved on to the walls. He needed to keep this second job for at least another month so he could afford a few more items for the cabin. Life was all about moving in and moving on.

* * *

Sherlock woke to damp sheets and a side that was on fire. He was not in his own bed. Oh yes, Molly. A glass of water and a bottle of antibiotics sat on the bedside table. He did not have time for an infection let alone two knife wounds.

He pieced together the day of the stabbing. New foe, no name yet but someone highly connected with many crime syndicates and apparently in the possession of atomic weaponry, or at least connected with those who had the capabilities. Sherlock thought this may be related to Moriarty, but it did not have the cat and mouse feel of Jim Moriarty. This just had the feel of an insane dictator wanting to warn any potential enemies to stay away.

The noise of rattling pans broke Sherlock out of his speculations, and he suddenly had the distinct awareness of having to use the loo. That was a good sign indeed, but just thinking about the pain of moving at this point kept him motionless for another ten minutes until the pain of an overfull bladder won out. He gingerly swung his legs over the side of the bed, and grabbing the headboard, pushed himself into a crouched standing position. Luckily Molly's flat was fairly small and he calculated he needed only take twelve steps to reach his destination. By the time he was at the doorway, Molly was standing in front of him.

"Sher..." she began before he quickly waved her away.

"Loo," he painfully whispered continuing on his path.

"Oh, right then." She looked away slightly embarrassed and took a few steps back as he shuffled along. "I'll be right here if you need any, um, help." She closed the door slightly as he entered. He obviously did not care about modesty at this point. By the time he emerged, his face was even whiter than before if that was even possible.

He held onto the door jamb and managed to gasp out "Help now, " as his legs began to buckle. Molly ran to his side and placed his arm around her shoulder. She did not fancy seeing him in so much pain, but she was enjoying being needed and having the close contact that was usually reserved for her daily fantasies.

After she got him back into the bed she grabbed for the antibiotics and water. "You really need to have some Morphine Sherlock, something stronger than Ibuprofen," she said sheepishly.

"No," he barked as he rubbed his cheek. They both knew this was a reference to the sound slapping he had received from Molly not long ago after she tested him for drugs. He had insisted it was for a case, but everyone in the room knew about his drug riddled past and were just as upset as Molly. He could see the hurt in her eyes and he softened his voice. "I just need rest and...is that eggs I smell?"

"Oh, yes, I, um, thought you could eat a bit to get your strength up." The hurt was gone replaced by an eagerness to help. She darted out of the room and was back with a plate of scrambled eggs in all of ten seconds. Sherlock managed a pained smile as Molly propped him up with another pillow. The following scene was surreal at best as Molly fed Sherlock each bite. They gazed at each other in awkward silence both at a loss for words that would make this any less uncomfortable.

Molly stood up to go after the last bite and was stopped by Sherlock's warm hand on her arm. "Thank you, really, I mean it," he spoke softly as his blue green eyes conveyed sincerity that Molly was not sure he was even capable of.

"It's fine, um, I am happy to help. I just wish...I just wish we could get some other help, your brother, or John?"

Sherlock shook his head no. "Not yet...please, I have to get better."

"Alright, okay then," she whispered as she drew the covers up a little higher and resisted the urge to kiss his forehead. She did not need to, as his soft touch would radiate through her being for the rest of the day making Molly feel a little less lonely.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The tall man came closer to Sam's hospital bed. He had the most intent stare and Sam could see his blue eyes darting back and forth as if he were in REM sleep. His hands remained steepled below his chin. He began.

"Now, you have been in hospital for two days." It was not a question and he continued on without a pause. "During which this time you have received five visitors. One, your boss at Jiffy Lube. Two and three, Cassie and Jeff something-they found you at the scene of the accident. Four, Aspen Summers, lovely name, don't you think, but you already know that."

Sam startled when he heard Aspen's name and the tall man paused and tilted his head to the side as if he was cataloging the fact then continued on as quickly as before.

"Your fifth visitor was a man that the nurses claim was your cousin. But you have no cousins, and you certainly do not have one from London. He gave the name of Smith, which is so lazy of him, but he must be off his game in the states. I, on the other hand, revealed my true name and the flash of a badge led me, without question, into your room. I am Sherlock, by the way, consulting detective for Scotland Yard, but you do not much care for that, do you?"

Sam's eyebrows raised a full inch. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a hoarse, "Uhhh."

"Oh right, sorry about that," Sherlock said as he snatched up the water cup on the bedside roll away table and held the straw close to Sam's mouth. Sam took a small sip then began coughing. After his fit ended, he motioned for more and this time drank without difficulty. The cool liquid felt soothing, and his mind began to uncloud slightly.

"Sherlock Holmes?" Sam questioned with a confused look on his face.

"Yes," Sherlock replied slightly irritated.

"Is this some kind of joke?" Sam whispered, also irritated.

"I assure you it is not, and I must know your connection to your supposed cousin," he answered with little emotion. "The fate of the known world may depend on this information."

Sam just stared blankly at the tall man claiming to be Sherlock Holmes and wondered if he was in some delusional state. It was very possible the accident caused brain damage, but this was all too real to be a dream or hallucination. And why in hell would he be hallucinating Sherlock Holmes. He was in no way obsessed with this fictional character as Aspen was. _Wait, did Sherlock say that Aspen came to see me?_

"I can see you are trying to piece everything together yourself. From your charts, you may have not even been conscious when **Smith** came to see you, but I have to ask you a terribly important question. Do you remember him mentioning Molly?" Sherlock's cool composure began to erode slightly at the utterance of the last name. He waited, searching Sam's face for any indication of knowing the name. There was none.

"Molly?" was all Sam could utter.

* * *

The flat was unusually quiet. Sherlock could not hear any indication of Molly Hooper bustling about as she had for the past two days. Perhaps she had gone to work he surmised. His fever had broken and the pain was somewhat bearable, but he still had a deep yearning for the morphine that Molly had suggested, and not for the pain. He was resolute that he would not venture down that path. After the Magnussen case and his foray into the drug world as well as the ample morphine he received after the shooting from Mary, he knew it was not a choice he should ever make lightly.

The past year had certainly revealed more of his humanity than he ever wanted. It had been a year of letting emotions through a crack as he witnessed the ones who loved him both in torment and pleasure. He let himself feel, yes feel, a fraction of it all. The rest he play-acted. It would not do to become so out of character that no one would believe you had changed. Instead, he had made a measured decision to give everyone a sampling of what life could be like with a sociopath who was perhaps slightly kinder and more thoughtful, but not too much at once. This was most true for Molly. After she had slapped him, he did not want to make the hurtful comment about her canceled engagement and her lack of a ring. Instead, he wanted to grab her wrist, pull her to him quickly and kiss her fiercely. For now, he needed to give her just enough to keep her holding on. It would not do to let the floodgates opened just yet. There were cases to solve and mad men to stop. That had to be his focus right now.

The door to the flat closed with a thud. An immediate aroma of Chinese take away drifted into the bedroom and caused Sherlock's mouth to water significantly. Hunger was another thing he let take a slight hold in his life. Days without eating was actually absurd, and he knew this habit did not lend itself to health and vigor of which he needed more and more as the years took a toll on his body. He shuffled out of bed and met Molly in the kitchen as she unpacked glossy containers of Curry something, Moo Shu something and a large Styrofoam of Wonton soup. His sense of smell was never more keen. He gave Molly a broad smile that translated that she had done well. She giggled and motioned for him to sit down as she proceeded to ladle the steaming soup into a small bowl for him. They ate in silence, and it was not the slightest bit uncomfortable.

Author's note: My first attempt at a Sherlock deduction/monologue. It was way more difficult than I had imagined. My hats off to Gatiss and Moffat for brilliant writing. I definitely need to do a lot more reading and research to be able to pull this off without seeming ridiculous. Three intertwining story lines is also a bit tricky, and I hope I am not confusing anyone at this point. Let me know if you are baffled. Of course, I am going for the element of surprise and trying to keep you wondering how this will all turn out (as I eluded to in my prologue, not so subtly I might add, ha). I can see that I am getting a lot of traffic, but a comment or two would be nice. I must remember to add more comments to the stories I read myself. Thank you all again for reading! I am having great fun writing this, and it is good practice for my novelette this summer.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Aspen learned to control her rantings about Molly lest she be treated to yet another sedative. The dreams had continued with Sherlock being holed up in Molly's apartment taking far too long to heal. He kept talking about some horrible plan to annihilate half the world with weapons of mass destruction. Of course it was not his plan, but he always had a fascinating expression on his face while he deduced how his new foe would bring it about. Aspen hated him for his lack of compassion and lack of "anything but horror" for such a plan. All the while, he kept Molly at bay and assured her that she was not in any danger. Really? How could she NOT be in danger.

A few days had passed since the accident, and she was now out of ICU. There were many visitors to her room, and they all had that uncomfortable look in their eyes as they gave Aspen condolences on her husband's death. She felt numb to it all and sometimes could not muster as much as a tear. Everyone could not believe she could have survived such a horrific crash with so few injuries and claimed God must have more for her to do in this life. She was shown the wreckage, but it was not real to her at all. She wondered if they let her see the crumpled car to illicit a break from her psychosis. No such luck. Aspen was even more sure that Sherlock and Molly had somehow entered into her world.

The second day after the accident, she managed to remove her IV and sneak into Sam's room. She had heard the nurses talking about the other person in the wreck, and she needed to see if it were true. Flashes of his truck being pushed to the middle of the road before the log truck hit them played over in her mind. This just might be divine retribution she thought. He actually looked worse than she did. Before she could get close enough to rouse him, a nurse came barreling into the room.

"How did you...you should not be out of bed, oh God, your arm," she gasped as she pointed to the steady stream of blood cascading down Aspen's arm and pooling on the floor. Apparently Aspen was not quite adept at removing an IV line.

"I needed to see..." she trailed off with the hallway looking strangely fuzzy, and then nothing. Several other attendants came rushing to the unconscious figure in Sam's doorway. Most had heard her ranting earlier that day and added this to her "crazy lady" status.

She needed to see Sam again. She had asked several times, but was always told that he was not conscious, and she was not allowed to get about just yet. She began her own plan to figure out how two worlds could have collided. She needed to go over each and every detail of the days that led up to the crash. Only then would she be assured that this was not indeed a psychotic break.

* * *

"You are being an idiot Molly Hooper!" Sherlock threw a pillow on the couch and eased himself onto the cushions. "It is very apparent that the dark circles under your eyes and your sudden lapses in concentration are all due to a lack of sleep, and you need a proper night's rest."

"You are the one who needs the rest Sher..."

"Bugger it all, I am not moving, so you will have no recourse but to sleep in your own bed. Please do change the sheets though as it is starting to smell in there."

Molly threw up her hands but knew that it was not worth arguing about. Sherlock was determined to sleep on the couch.

He had been at Molly's flat for five days. As he began to feel increasingly better, his mood became decreasingly civil. He paced for short bursts talking to Toby, Molly's cat, about how the plan might be played out. He speculated six different scenarios. He could stop three of them, but the others would require an act of God or some higher power he imagined would care about the fate of the world. He was just about ready to begin his own plan when Molly returned from work looking worse than himself.

What proceeded to unfold was a verbal shouting match about the status of sleeping arrangements. Sherlock won of course, and Molly proceeded to change the sheets. She discarded the blood stained remnants in a plastic bag and threw it into the dust bin hoping no one would see this evidence. At this point, she did not care much what anyone thought as her brain was most definitely getting muddled with the lack of sleep on her lumpy couch. Sherlock would regret his hasty decision.

Halfway through the night he did just that. His back ached and his side burned once again. He figured a hot bath could ease some of the ache. He managed to draw a bath and remove his dressings. The wounds were healing nicely due to Molly's adept stitching. There would only be a faint scarring. He plunged below the warm water giving his hair a good scrubbing before he emerged feeling a world better. He had managed to wash a bit in the past few days, but he now realized that the sheets were not the only thing reeking in Molly's bedroom. After applying a new dressing to his side, he found a clean tee shirt that Molly had snagged from his flat along with some sweat trousers. All his effort left him feeling quite clean but nonetheless exhausted. He did not want to return to the lumpy couch.

As he slid beside Molly he expected her immediate waking, but she continued her soft deep breathing with no interruption. Her face was peaceful and her hair cascaded over her arm in soft folds. He thought he would tell her how much he liked her hair tomorrow to make up for their fight earlier. Sherlock knew that one small compliment could erase any wrong doings on his part. This time the compliment would be true. He closed his eyes and breathed in her Lavender scent. He smiled and let the feelings that others so freely experience creep ever so slightly into his soul. He drifted off to sleep knowing that Molly Hooper could never disappoint him, and that she was indeed his biggest asset yet at the same time his greatest weakness.


	6. Chapter 6

"Molly?" Sam questioned again.

"Yes, Molly Hooper, small gal, long brown hair, large brown eyes, small mouth, slightly clever, but then I compare everyone to my own infinite cleverness."

"You mean Aspen?"

"No, I mean Molly."

"It sounds like Aspen."

"Aspen is not as clever as Molly, and she has a different nose, oh yes, Molly's nose, quite straight while Aspen has a bit of an upturn."

"Never mind, I do not know any Molly, and why do you need to know, and what does this have to do with me?"

"I have not quite figured that out yet, I am only following the lead. The clues led me to this God forsaken part of the world. There is a cabin, of which you have been fortunate enough to inherit. You are not altogether sure why you have inherited this domicile, but you needed to move on and there it was, almost fate would you say. What I do know is that this cabin has, shall we say, vast stores of chemical weapons underground. You have just begun remodeling, so you have not imagined anything nefarious in your midst, but it would only have been a matter of time before you found the passageways. The person responsible for said weapons has taken Molly and your cabin is a likely place to hide her away. My brother has exhausted all possible places in the United Kingdom and the Middle East, so that brings us to your mountainous region of North Idaho. Selkirks and Purcells all very lovely, but I imagine cell phone coverage is lacking."

Sam looked on in disbelief as Sherlock spouted one sentence after another without seeming to breathe. "My cabin?" was all he could retort.

"Yes, your cabin, but why you? You have no ties to crime syndicates and have led a fairly boring life with two relationships that ended badly and no family to speak of, parents dead and only that one uncle who left you a cabin in the middle of nowhere. He could somehow be the connection, but I have not discovered it yet. He was a bit of a survivalist and was most likely the builder of the underground passageways, but the arrival of the weapons was sometime between his death and your arrival. The accident, Aspen, you, Molly...it all has to tie together somehow."

The throbbing began anew in Sam's temples. He closed his eyes and groaned. Sherlock seemed unaware or did not care about Sam's pain and continued to pace in the room and mumble to himself. "I need to talk to Aspen, but she has been a tad bit loopy of late and my appearance will only send her into fits again. You need to speak to her and find out as much as you can about the last month. She may be the missing connection."

Sam only nodded. He was not intending to interrogate Aspen, but he had to do something to get this mad man out of his room.

"Very well then, I will return tomorrow. Say, do you have a key for the cabin? Never mind, I imagine entrance will be easy enough. Remember, talk to Aspen." He exited as quietly as he had entered and left Sam wondering what in the hell was going on.

**Author's note**: Yes, a very short chapter but these mere 550 words took a while to write, and I am a bit spent. Dialogue is not my forte, but I do try. Sorry for the lack of a Sherlock/Molly scene, but I will try to make up for it next weekend. Yes, next weekend. I am back to work tomorrow and probably won't have time/energy to write in the evening after teaching children all day. Thank you for continuing on this journey with me. Let me know what you think/like/want more of... Happy President's Day!


	7. Chapter 7

As promised, more Sherlock and Molly interaction.

Warning: The rated T plays into this chapter with drug references and slight sexual innuendos. Let me know if the rating is appropriate.

Molly arrived at her flat to the most horrendous odor. A white smoke was emanating from the kitchen. The sight was worse than the smell. The kitchen table was littered with vials and beakers and powder. A Bunsen burner was busy on the counter along with more vials and bowls and unmarked bags that Molly could only speculate as to the contents. A trail of powder started from the edge of the table to the hallway and presumably to the bathroom which was all Molly could imagine.

"What the bloody hell?"

"Bored," was all Sherlock could manage as he stirred a pasty mixture in one of Molly's ceramic bowls: her great-grandmother's bowl from Holland.

Molly took a deep breath and determined to give Sherlock a good scolding. As she began, Sherlock looked up, and seeing the fury in her eyes, darted to her side and planted a kiss on her cheek. His lips were soft and warm, and although the kiss might have been a mere second, it was as if time had stopped for much longer. Molly's adrenaline surged, her pupils dilated and her words trailed off into incomprehensible gibberish.

"I am so happy you are back," he commented almost genuinely.

Molly did not even need the feigned kind words. He had her at the kiss which she still felt resonating warmly on her cheek. The last kiss she had received from him was a thank you and a kind of goodbye. She never imagined that she would be privy to another one, and especially not in her kitchen.

"Do not be alarmed, it is not **Molly** or anything that I could consume for pleasure," Sherlock winked and chuckled to himself at the double entendre.

Molly was a little horrified that he would use an electronic dance scene drug to pun with her name which he also thought would be unwise to partake in. As she thought about it, still feeling the effects of the kiss, she began to become irritated once again. Why did Sherlock always have to make her feel horrible about herself then dismiss it all away with a smile or a compliment, and now brief physical contact. Two people could play at this game.

"So, you are saying that I would give you pleasure?" Molly's voice cracked with the word pleasure.

Sherlock looked up slightly confused. He was definitely not anticipating those words coming from Molly Hooper. He had a few options for his response. He could dismiss it with a wave and continue on with his experiment which may just shut her up. He could give her a sarcastic and witty reply that may or may not shut her up. Or, he could be brutally honest and leave her in a state of mush at which she could start crying, run out of the room, or become frozen in horror, but all of which would leave her speechless. He weighed the options and decided to go with brutally honest; he owed her that much. Their relationship was about to change.

**Author's Note**: I knew I wanted to tie in the drug reference from the start of the story because as I was researching my title and the most prevalent Google search result was about the drug Molly of which I was clueless about before this search. Some say it is a hodgepodge of Meth and other substances, and some say it is another form of ecstasy. They all say it is tied to the EDM scene. Now, Sherlock's drug addiction is a backstory that may or may not be addressed in the writings, but I felt it was warranted in this story. I do not make light of drug use as my own community has a real problem with Meth use, and I see the horrible repercussions on the children of addicts. The title will play into the themes of longing, fulfillment, and finding meaning in our lives. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I truly loved writing it.


	8. Chapter 8

_Two weeks earlier_

Sam decided that he would venture into Aspen's room for a real conversation. The prior week had been more intent staring and a brief conversation in the hallway. He noticed her clothes were more telling and wondered if she was trying to impress. Cut-off jean shorts disclosed toned legs of which most of his stares were directed. An unbuttoned Paisley blouse served as a layer over a royal-blue fitted tank top that revealed small but proportionate breasts. Her hair was intricately braided with wisps left framing her face. The hallway interaction showed a light touch of makeup that accentuated her large brown eyes.

Aspen divulged a few details of her life: teenage son, teacher for ten years and recent separation with husband. Sam also wondered if that information was for his benefit. He did likewise and relayed his not-so-recent break-up, moving to Idaho and remodeling a cabin. The conversation was a bit awkward, but each felt a spark of chemistry. Sam had thought about Aspen all week and anticipated the weekend and another encounter.

He was certainly disappointed when she did not show up at her usual time. He cleaned every other room saving hers for last in case she eventually showed. Just as he began washing down her students' desks, she appeared in the doorway looking somewhat disheveled. His smile turned to a concerned frown as he noticed her apparent emotional distress.

"What is wrong Aspen?" He waved her over to the green stuffed chair in the corner and had her sit down.

"I don't really know where to begin, and I shouldn't be bothering you with this. I hardly know you," she murmured.

"I understand, I don't mean to pry, but you seem very upset," Sam said with soft concern.

"Before today, I thought I was incapable of this much feeling, but I guess I never had my husband completely betray me before." She closed her eyes and a single tear rolled down her face. Upon opening them, she had gained her composure and a vacant stare replaced the furrowed brow.

"Can I call someone? Do you want me to leave," Sam offered.

"No, I am glad you are here. I was hoping, um, I mean it is nice someone is here. I am trying to process fifteen years of lies, and it is not going so well."

Aspen gave a half smile, and Sam pulled up a chair beside her and waited for her to speak. What proceeded was several hours of Aspen relaying her married life, her inability to feel true emotions, her escape into the fantasy world of Sherlock and her husband's double life right under her nose. The last fact had been revealed to her as they worked out the details of their divorce. She had blamed herself all this time thinking her lack of emotions created the loveless marriage, but all the time he was just as removed and living out an entirely different existence in London.

"You must think I am completely crazy," Aspen said searching his face for the signs of his wanting to bolt from the room. All she got was a warm smile and a soft hand on her own hand.

"I can honestly say that my own life is just as crazy, except for the Sherlock part." With that he gave a guarded laugh.

"Yes, I know, I probably should be committed, or never tell people about that part of my life," Aspen chuckled.

"Well, I can't say that I totally understand fantasy worlds, but I sure do understand escape. I do that when I ride Patches. Um, that is my horse by the way." Sam's face pinked into a slight blush.

"Thank you for listening," Aspen whispered. She leaned over and lightly brushed her lips to his cheek then got up to leave. Sam was unsure of what to do next. He followed her to the door not wanting to complicate matters when she was vulnerable, but he resigned to at least let her know he could be a shoulder to cry on if needed.

"Um, let me give you my number if you need to talk further. No funny business, I promise." Sam quickly scrawled his phone number on a scrap piece of paper hanging from one of the desks. He placed it in Aspen's palm and closed her fingers around the item. She looked at him with appreciation, gave a half smile and walked out of the room. Sam's heart melted. He was not sure about love at first sight, but he definitely believed that, fantasy world or not, he needed to be part of her story line.


	9. Chapter 9

"Well, yes Molly, you give me, I mean, could give me pleasure." Sherlock cleared his throat and looked more uncomfortable than Molly had ever seen him before. "What I mean to say is, um, that if I were to engage in a relationship beyond my current state of relationships then, yes, you would be the one to give me pleasure. You are well suited for me intellectually, well, as much as anyone is capable of except for John, and he already has a mate." Sherlock gave a wry grin with the last statement thinking of all the times people thought he and John were a couple. "Furthermore..."

"Oh shut up you git," Molly cried out, eyes moist with newly formed tears. She grabbed the bowl in Sherlock's hands, tossed it onto the table and pulled him down into an ardent kiss, her fingers twining into his curls at the back of his head. Sherlock was most certainly not prepared for this reaction and stumbled forward grasping the table for balance, cups and utensils flying everywhere. Molly persisted despite almost being thrown to the ground by an incredibly ungraceful Sherlock. As he regained his balance, he drew Molly into his embrace and returned the kiss with soft yielding lips. He was rewarded with a low moan and soon realized that he was the one making the noise. Heat encircled his body, and when they finally broke away breathless, he gasped the only words that came to his mind. "Yes, that was quite pleasurable."

"Right then," Molly squeaked, her face as red as the markings on the mixing bowl.

Sherlock looked at this beautiful creature before him and realized that during the past seven minutes and twenty-two seconds of snogging his mind had been still and the only neurons firing were ones dedicated to the sense of touch. It was euphoria that he had only felt with his initial drug use. He wondered if this would change as well with more exposure. He did not care at this point because he just wanted more. He had found his new drug, and it was ironically called Molly.

* * *

Aspen waited a week before getting up the nerve to call Sam. She numbly went through the divorce proceedings, more absent with each meeting. Her husband's lawyer was constantly in a state of agitation as to how much Aspen was getting out of the deal, especially since she did not care about any other holdings outside of her own home. She was about to be a very wealthy woman. Of course she had been all along but just did not know it. She really only wanted custody of her son, and apparently that was not a problem since her husband had several other children in London.

She almost hung up on the third ring, but Sam was saying hello before she could tap end. "Uh, hi Sam, this is Aspen, sorry to bother you."

"You are not bothering me at all. I was just thinking about getting a bite to eat. You want to meet somewhere?" Sam said.

Aspen was relieved that he avoided all the awkward small talk. "Yes, that would be so nice," she replied.

They met at a small cafe, outside of town that served mostly vegan fare and many forms of tea and coffee. The old plank boards on the floor creaked as they made their way back to the alcove of high round tables. Once a hardware store, the cafe was untypical with high ceilings lined with shelves, wooden framed windows painted pale Turquoise and long ceiling fans that wobbled above their heads.

Aspen was glad when they were seated in the corner away from the view of most of the cafe. Even though she had told many people, especially those at work, that she was getting divorced, she still was thinking she should not jump into another relationship immediately and certainly not be seen in public with another man. It was not even a matter of guilt. She felt none at this point. She had just played the life of proper etiquette for so long that it was engrained in her being like well worn tracks. Veering off was uncomfortable.

"I know I should have waited until we signed the final papers next week before I called you, but that is just a formality. Am I a bad person to be having a date before I am divorced?"

"Um, we don't have to call this a date. Really, it is just two people having dinner and, um, talking. Okay, that sounds lame, and I honestly am putting this in my first date category and no, you are not a bad person. You just have crappy timing," Sam chuckled and gave her a smile.

Aspen relaxed and actually felt a stirring of appreciation. She could not say that she was suddenly filled with emotions upon meeting Sam. She still felt very little, but a small inclination drove her toward this man. She was a heart shaped leaf tilting toward the sun.

They remained there for hours, eating pecan salads and talking about everything. There was no pretense, only fast forward. They both were not inclined to spend weeks in the typical dating fashion of finding out about each other slowly. A flicker of lights brought them out of their twenty dates in one evening. Sam paid to the protest of Aspen. She had divulged her new found wealth matter-of-factly. He still clung to his rituals from the past, and he was not going to let her pay on their first date. Maybe next time, he thought. He knew there was definitely going to be a next time.

They stood by her SUV for a minute looking at each other trying to find words to bring the evening to a close. Sam finally decided against words and leaned in quickly for a kiss. His speed and her relaxed state sent her backwards up against the car door. That just heightened Sam's excitement. Placing his hands on the cool glass behind Aspen's head, he deepened the kiss with no objection from Aspen. Aspen felt strangely safe and knew that it may be impossible to wait a week for their next date.

**Author's Note**: That was a lot of fun to write. It was far more difficult than I imagined, and I deleted as many clichés as I wrote. I am pretty sure I will not be a romance novelist in the future. I hope you enjoyed it, and that it was not too much OOC. Let me know what you thought. I topped over a thousand views last weekend, so I am pretty excited about that. Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock stood at the edge of the porch surveying the surrounding landscape. The cabin rested on a small embankment about fifty feet from a rushing river. He went into his mind palace and pulled up the few maps that he had studied on the plane trip over. This must be the 92 mile long Moyie River that snakes its way through North Idaho and up to British Columbia. Western White Pines, Bull Pines and scattered Cedars meshed into browns and mixtures of India and Hunter greens. It smelled of rotting wood amidst moist and mossy earth.

He closed his eyes and filed away this specific scent. It was something new for his odor palette. He glanced at the front door knowing he could pick the lock in under a minute. Wood was stacked three and a half feet high to the left of the door. A splitting maul rested against the side of the stack. He contemplated grabbing it in case there were any surprises inside. He left it. No one had been there for at least a week. Pine needles and debris had blown onto the porch and accumulated. There was no evidence of foot travel, and this was the only way in and out of the cabin. Windows were abnormally small, definitely not up to code.

Once inside, Sherlock took stock of the interior. The front room merged living and dining areas with a small laminated counter serving as a partition. The kitchen was a mere alcove of the dining room with a gas cook stove and small refrigerator separated by more counter and oak cabinets. The cabinets were a new addition and looked severely out of place in this rustic cabin. A narrow hallway led to a bathroom and two small bedrooms at the back of the house. A quick inspection did not reveal anything important. Sherlock knew what he really sought after would not be in plain sight, and as he opened the door to the basement another new scent wafted through the air.

It had a tinge of chemical with more rotting something and wet earth. He flicked on the light switch to the right of the stairs. He was rewarded with a soft glow. The basement had a dirt floor and the cement foundation walls were crumbling in places. Water pipes hung from the ceiling and wiring dangled between floorboards. A few empty crates were stacked against the far wall. Sherlock pulled them away only to reveal more crumbling concrete. The pattern of the cracks in the wall caught his eye and a smile spread across his face. A few pushes on different parts of the wall and a rumbling began. A section of the concrete wall slowly began to swing outward revealing a long dark passageway. Removing his flashlight, he stepped into the tunnel knowing that he would not find anything good.

**Author's Note**: Another really short chapter, but I did not want to get too rusty even though I have another job I am currently doing online besides teaching during the day. I hope to write a couple longer chapters this coming weekend. Fair warning-there will be a plot twist soon. I am just giddy thinking about it. Please let me know your thoughts on the story. Commentary motivates me more than anything. Thanks!


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